Chapter 3
Ava
Idecidedtodoa couple of waterfall braids and let the rest of my hair fall down my back in waves. I put on glamorous make-up, trying to fit in with the kind of people I thought would be there too, giving myself smokey eyes and putting on the same bright red lipstick that I’d worn the night before, which now matched my dress perfectly.
Running my fingers over the expensive choker, I finally slid the engagement ring onto my finger and reached for my clutch just as my phone beeped.
Ready for you, naughty girl.
I snorted and shook my head. A one-night stand and I was a naughty girl.
He was waiting by the passenger door of the car with a million-pound smile on his face.
I stopped in front of him and moved his blond hair from his forehead. “You look dashing.”
“And you are the most beautiful girl there is.” I smiled with a shake of my head as he drove through the city traffic.
I glanced at him every once in a while and I could see him tense the closer we got to our destination.
“You don’t want to be there, do you?”
He glanced my way and let out a sigh. “I’m sorry. I asked you to come and it’s going to suck.”
I shrugged. “Not necessarily, and if it does, we could always cause havoc.”
He snorted. “You could.”
I grinned. “And I will.”
“Sometimes I wish it was real, you know?” he admitted before letting out a little wistful sigh.
“What?”
“You and I.”
I turned a little on my seat. “It is real.”
He rolled his eyes. “You know what I mean. It would be so much easier.” He pointed from him to me, still keeping his eyes on the road. “You’re my soulmate. Being in love with you would be so easy.”
“I used to think that, too.” I even had a crush on him when we first met, before I realized that we had something else in common—we both loved men.
“Oh, you used to?” He snorted. “Is it because of Mr. Eight-inch sandwich?”
I laughed. “Lord Jesus, stop it! It has nothing to do with Mr. Eight inch. It’s…” I shook my head. “I think we work so well together because there’s no sexual tension, no jealousy—take away the sex and a relationship is perfect.”
“Maybe you’re right.” He took a deep breath. “Here goes nothing.”
We stopped the car in front of a huge white Victorian House. I looked in awe as a man in a red uniform approached the car.
“Ethan, how rich are you?” I whispered. I didn’t know much about London real estate pricing, but I also knew without a shadow of a doubt that this house cost at least twenty-million pounds, if not more.
He sighed. “I’m not rich, my parents are.”
I threw him a side look, failing to see the difference.
He shook his head, as my door opened and the man in the red uniform extended a gloved hand toward me to exit the car.
My God, I almost felt like I was going to meet the King.